Little Darling
by MistressInk
Summary: Charlie's got the busking blues, until she brightens up his day.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Lost or any of the characters from the series used in this fic. Nor does "Here Comes the Sun" belong to me. Author's Note: This was inspired by The Script's "Man Who Can't Be Moved". This is unbetaed, so if you find any grammatical errors, please feel free to let me know.**

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When the band broke up, Charlie was left somewhat adrift. Where his brother, Liam, had his young family to devote himself to, Charlie had nothing and no one else. For him it had always been about the music. It still was. He was a musician, whether or not his songs were being played on the radio.

So, he'd taken a step back and started busking again. He'd done it before Driveshaft had made it big, when he was still a starving artist. But doing it now after a taste of success was embarrassing. He'd thought he was past singing for his supper on street corners. If not that, than at least he'd have thought he wouldn't have to do it for long. However, no one seemed to recognize his voice or any of the Driveshaft songs he strummed. No one paid him any attention—or money, for that matter.

He'd spent most of his savings when he'd come to Sydney a few months ago in the hopes of convincing his brother to reinstate the band. Having failed to do so, he now needed to find a way to pay for his flight back home. So far, he'd only managed to save half the price of the ticket.

The weather today was particularly dreary with rainclouds over head, reminding him of London. When the bus finally pulled up at the stop he was stationed at to let off passengers, he started playing louder to draw a crowd. No such luck. People hurried past, avoiding eye contact with him. Charlie looked down into his guitar case and saw the pittance he'd earned after hours of playing. With sore hands and a disappointed look on his face, he decided to call it a day. He scooped up the change and shoved it into his pocket; it was enough for a bag of crisps, anyway.

"Hey!" a girl shouted from down the street.

Charlie glanced up and saw a girl running towards the bus, which had just closed its doors. She waved her arm over her head and shouted again. Charlie tried signalling the bus driver for the poor girl, to no avail. If the bus driver had seen her, he clearly did not tolerate waiting on late-comers. The bus started down the road, with the girl still chasing after it.

By the time the girl had finally reached the stop, the bus was nearly out of sight. She slowed to a stop, gasping for breath. She carried a canvas satchel and wore a "Fish & Fry" uniform, which included a dark blue baseball hat.

"No!" the girl groaned, obviously distressed.

She pulled off her hat, letting long blonde tendrils fall down around her face. Her cheeks were flushed and a light sheen of sweat coated her skin. Charlie, still standing with his guitar, was struck dumb by just how pretty this girl was. The clouds parted—just for her it seemed—and the two of them were soon bathed in warm sunlight. She was fresh faced and flawless, a vivacious vision. Her blonde hair seemed a halo and Charlie—a lapsed Catholic—would go on to swear up and down that she was an angel appeared unto him.

She wiped her brow with the back of her delicate hand. Her bright blue eyes turned to him and Charlie closed him mouth, which had been gaping open without him realizing. He searched for something to say, something intelligent and interesting preferably. Normally, he could turn on the charm with the greatest of ease. However, in this moment he knew he was only capable of being one of two things: a blithering idiot or a mute.

"Do you know when the next bus comes along?" she asked him.

Looks like he was the latter. He opened his mouth, ready to tell her, until he realized he had no idea—not that he'd have been able to succinctly tell her if he did know. He shook his head and let his gaze fall to the pavement, no longer deserving to look at such loveliness now that he'd failed her. He heard her give a small sigh, and it was quite possibly the most melodic sound he'd ever heard.

Music! He had nothing else worth offering. His fingers found the strings of his guitar, and he finally found something to say.

"Any requests?" he asked, desperately. He would play 'Mary had a Little Lamb' over and over if that's all she wanted.

The corners of her cherry coloured lips quirked up into a small smile. "No, thanks," she said. "I'd better start walking."

Charlie felt his stomach drop at the thought of her leaving. He nodded sadly, but forced a polite smile. She walked past him, beginning her trip home, but stopped short. She dropped her change into his guitar case; her bus fare, he realized.

"Don't need it now," she smiled wryly, putting her cap back on her head.

"...Thank you," he said, stupidly.

He watched her go, heart skipping a beat. Would he ever see her again? There was no way to know for sure. He resolved to return tomorrow at the very same time, and the day after that, and the day after that—as long as it took until he saw her again. Hope flooded his insides, and as if possessed, he began to play an all too familiar tune. Suddenly, the idea of busking didn't seem so unappealing.

* * *

Every day for the next month, Charlie determinedly returned to that same bus stop at that same time. He'd seen her on a few occasions, and every time she'd toss him the same, small smile that set his heart aglow. He'd taken to playing the same song he had when he'd first seen her. Every day he'd play it, just for her, but every day she'd get on the bus before he could finish the song.

Today was different.

The bus was running a tad late, and when Charlie started to play 'their song', as he now referred to it in his head, he heard her dulcet tones singing along softly.

"Little darling, it's been a long, cold lonely winter.

Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here.

Here comes the sun, here comes the sun.

And I say it's alright."

Charlie stood transfixed. She was beautiful to look at undoubtedly, but hearing her voice was almost overwhelming. She had a voice he longed to compose songs for. He wondered how she sounded when she laughed, when she was angry. There was so much he wanted to know about her. Seeing the bus appear down the street, Charlie started to panic. He finished the song, but so badly wished to listen to her more—to know her.

For what he wanted, he knew there was only one option. So in a flash of unexpected bravery, Charlie stuck out his hand and offered her a handshake.

"I'm Charlie," he said, anxiously waiting for her response.

Seemingly a tad startled at first by his abruptness, she took his calloused hand in her soft one and shook it.

"I'm Claire."

The bus pulled up at the stop, opened its doors and let passengers step off. Claire's hand slipped from his and she stepped onto the bus. She looked back over her shoulder at him, with a look that seemed almost hopeful. Maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part, but before he realized what he was doing, Charlie put his guitar into his case and boarded the bus. He had no idea what was going to happen next but he was certain of one thing: an angel had sung for him, and he needed to hear more.

Forget Driveshaft, recording contracts and concert tours—he had a new claim to fame.

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**This is the second one-shot (following "You've Really Got a Hold on Me") in a series of music inspired fics, entitled "Song the Heart Sings". Let me know what you think?**


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